by Fern Britton
‘Silly bitch,’ Edward whispered once she’d shut the door.
‘Edward.’ I gasped with shock. ‘That word is very, very bad.’
‘If the devil exists, which I don’t believe, it’s her.’
‘But Edward, if the devil doesn’t exist, then God doesn’t either. It’s all part of the same story.’
Edward lay staring at the ceiling. ‘I don’t believe in God either.’
‘What? But that is what we must believe to be confirmed.’ I was scared and tears began to form. ‘Oh Edward. You might go to hell and I’ll never see you again because I will be in heaven.’ I wiped my eyes on the sheet and placed my hands together. ‘I am going to pray for you to be saved.’
‘Don’t bother,’ he grumped, and turned over so that I couldn’t see his face.
The Bishop of Gloucester was to officiate and there was to be a good turnout of parish children who were also willing to renew the promises to God that had been made for them at their baptism as babies.
But with a week to go before the big day, Grandmother took a turn for the worse. The doctor said she had had a stroke. I thought that sounded rather lovely. There was a cat next door who loved being stroked and I liked having my hair stroked by Dora, but this stroke had made our grandmother fall into a deep sleep.
Edward and I were sent to bed early that night, and once our lights had gone out and our door closed, I heard Aunt Amy crying on the landing.
‘She’s never going to wake up, is she?’
My grandfather was with her. ‘Hush, my dear. Your mother must rest. We must not upset her. If it’s God’s will she recovers, we shall thank him. If she leaves us she will be with our dear Bertie and we will be thankful.’
I lay in the dark and pondered this. ‘Edward?’ I whispered. ‘Edward.’
‘What?’ He turned over and looked at me over the space of floor between us.
‘Have you heard of anyone called Bertie?’
Edward yawned. ‘No. Go to sleep.’
Grandmother died two days later. The news was broken to us the next morning by Grandfather in his study. I didn’t know whether to cry or not. I didn’t feel the need to cry, so I said nothing but tried to look sad. Grandfather looked very tired but he tried to be cheerful.
‘Cook is making you breakfast in the kitchen today as I have things to see to,’ he said.
The kitchen was fine by us. It was always a treat to sit by the warmth of Cook’s range.
‘Come on, you two. I’m making pancakes and I have some sausages too.’
‘Is Grandmother still in the house?’ I asked Cook.
‘Now now, let’s talk of happier things, shall we?’
‘What happens to her?’ I really did want to know. ‘Does God take her straight away to heaven?’
Edward tutted. ‘Her spirit goes to heaven. But her body has to be buried.’
‘Oh! Is she buried already?’
‘Not yet, Hannah.’ Dora was red-eyed and snuffling. ‘They have to lay her out and we can pay our respects and then she’s buried in a few days.’
‘Oh.’ I thought about this for a moment. ‘What does “lay out” mean?’
‘That’s enough of that. Have another sausage.’
Aunt Amy came in. She looked very grey and thinner than ever. To my surprise, Cook went and gave her a hug. ‘My poor Miss Amy. You have done all you can. No mother could have had a better daughter.’ Edward and I looked at each other in amazement.
Amy burst into tears and Cook rocked her gently saying, ‘There, there. You’ve had so much loss.’
‘I will miss Mama so much,’ Amy croaked. ‘I thought my heart was broken after Peter but this,’ she gulped, ‘this is unendurable.’
‘But you will endure it.’ Cook patted Amy’s back softly. ‘You will be strong, just as your mother was after poor Mr Bertie.’
That name again. My ears pricked up. ‘Who is Mr Bertie?’ I asked.
Aunt Amy pushed Cook away and wheeled around in fury. ‘How long have you been there? Listening in on other people’s conversations now, are you?’
Cook moved quickly to shield me. ‘Hannah and Edward are having their breakfast in here for a change.’
‘Well, breakfast is over.’ She stretched a thin arm out and pointed a bony finger at the door. ‘Go to your grandfather’s study and wait until I call you.’ Aunt Amy was shaking.
Edward stood up immediately. He was always more obedient than me. ‘Come on, Hannah.’
As we walked to the study, Dora was letting four men through the front door. Sombrely dressed, their heads bowed, they passed us in the hall and followed Dora upstairs.
Edward shushed me into the study and closed the door, but I put my ear to it and listened.
‘Come away,’ he said to me.
‘I just want to know what’s going on,’ I replied, cross that he should try to boss me about. But I did come away and we both sat. Me in the chair by the empty grate. Edward in Grandfather’s chair behind his desk.
We sat like that for a long time until I heard four sets of plodding feet, walking in rhythm, coming down the stairs and heading slowly for the parlour.
‘It’s those men,’ I whispered. ‘I think they’ve come from Grandmother’s room.’ I put my hand on the door handle. ‘Shall we go and see what’s happening?’
‘No.’ My brother gave me a look of dread. ‘I think they’ve put Grandmother in there.’
I was puzzled. ‘Do you mean they have carried her downstairs to sit by the parlour fire? Have they made a mistake and she’s got better?’
He rolled his eyes dramatically. ‘No, you idiot. They have brought her down in her coffin to stay in the parlour until her burial.’
‘Oh.’ A dead body in the room next to us was a sobering thought. ‘Well, at least she’ll be warm when the fire’s lit.’
‘Are you a complete fool?’ Edward sighed. ‘They’ll keep the room cold or else her body will rot and the flies will come into the house and then probably rats.’
I covered my ears with my hands. ‘Stop it. You are scaring me,’ I shouted at him.
My grandfather entered looking very sad. ‘Why are you scaring your sister, Edward?’
‘I wasn’t, sir.’
Grandfather looked from me to Edward and back again. ‘Hannah, there is nothing to be scared of. Grandmother loved you very much and will never scare you.’ He held his hand out. ‘Come. I will show you. She looks as if she is just sleeping. Come and say goodbye.’
‘Is Edward coming?’ I asked. My knees had begun to knock.
‘He certainly is.’ He looked at Edward and held out his other hand, ‘Aren’t you, my boy.’
The parlour was where we had Christmas games and birthday parties and warm crackling winter fires, but now it was cold, dark and heavy with the smell of candle wax. As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I could make out a dark wooden box, the length and width of Grandmother, set upon the best table.
Aunt Amy was sitting at one end, whispering a prayer. As we arrived she finished and beckoned Edward and me to join her. I had a sick feeling in my tummy and I wanted to run out of the house and into the fresh clean air of the garden, but Grandfather had his hand on my shoulder.
‘Come closer, both of you,’ said Aunt Amy. ‘Your grandmother would like you to say goodbye to her. You must thank her for all she’s done for you.’
I couldn’t lift my eyes from the floor. I knew I would see the flies and rats. ‘Do I have to?’ I asked in a tremulous voice.
Edward came to stand next to me. ‘Let’s do it together. Ready?’
I took a deep breath and nodded.
‘OK.’ He steadied himself. ‘Now.’
We gripped each other’s hands and peeked inside the box. Grandmother was tinged yellow but looked very much asleep. There were no flies or rats. She wasn’t twitching and her eyes were closed, and I could tell she wasn’t there any more. She had gone.
Bravely I allowed myself to look along the full length
of her. She was wearing a cream lace dress which covered her feet. Her sleeves were buttoned to the wrist and her hands were folded comfortably on her chest where she held the sepia photo of Father in his army uniform.
‘Is Father going to be buried with her too?’ I asked Grandfather.
‘No, child. He is in Penang with your mother. What makes you say that?’
‘The photo of him, that Grandmother is holding?’
‘Bless you, Hannah. That is not your father, that is your father’s brother. Bertie. He was killed in the Great War.’
‘Our uncle?’ asked Edward.
‘Where is he buried?’ I asked.
‘In France, where he died,’ said Grandfather.
‘Why wasn’t he buried here, in your churchyard?’
Aunt Amy spoke. ‘Soldiers who die on the battlefield are buried where they fell. But at least he has a grave. And a headstone.’ She stood up, her mouth working hard to get her words past her tears. ‘Peter hasn’t. My Peter. Who stepped on a mine, which blew him into tiny millions of pieces that were trodden into the mud by his comrades, who had to forget all about him and carry on killing the enemy. He has no headstone.’ With a sob, she ran to the door, Grandfather following.
Edward and I were left with Grandmother.
‘You asked too many questions,’ Edward said, then added admiringly, ‘but they were good ones.’
‘Why has no one ever told us about Uncle Bertie? Did you know about him?’ I asked.
‘Nope. All the grown-ups have been keeping it a secret because they didn’t want to upset us, I suppose.’
‘Oh yes.’ It made sense to my child’s mind. ‘Shall we sing Grandmother a song to make her happy?’
‘OK.’
And that’s how Grandfather found us. Singing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’, which Edward and I agreed seemed the most appropriate.
Chapter Seventeen
Hannah, Callyzion
Spring 1936
Aunt Amy had been suffering from her nerves. I supposed she got it from Grandmother. She didn’t live in the vicarage any longer. She had moved to a convent where Cook said the nuns were very kind to her. I had to say the house was a happier place without her.
Grandfather had been very sad and his knees had been hurting; he used a stick to walk now but Edward and I did all we could to look after him. I helped Cook and Dora with the house. Edward was sixteen now and had taken charge of the garden. Last winter he had planted lots of daffodils and now it was spring he had been mowing the grass and fixing Grandfather’s old swing. The other day the sun was so warm and the daffodils so pretty that I set up a tea table under the apple tree as a surprise for when Grandfather came home. I even made a Victoria sponge. It drooped a bit in the middle but Cook shook some icing sugar on the top and said it looked pretty good.
Grandfather said he enjoyed it but that the garden was a bit too cold for his knees, so after a cup of tea we all trooped back into his study. We rarely used the parlour any more.
On the morning of my twelfth birthday, a Saturday, so no school, the postman knocked, as he always did, and I ran down the stairs to greet him, as I rarely did.
He wished me a Happy Birthday and handed me a bundle of post. Most of it was for Grandfather but I could see several birthday cards addressed to me and a letter addressed to Edward and me with a Penang stamp.
‘Edward,’ I called up the stairs. ‘Ed! There’s a letter from Mummy and Daddy for us.’
We now had separate bedrooms. I was still in our old room, which I liked because it had a view of the apple tree, while Edward had been given the room which looked out over the church.
‘Coming,’ he shouted down.
I bounced into the kitchen which had become the hub of the house. Dora and Cook burst into ‘Happy Birthday’, and Grandfather, sitting in a rocker by the range, joined in.
‘Thank you.’ I kissed them all and handed Grandfather his post. ‘Mummy and Daddy have written to us.’ I sat down and waited for Edward before reading it out loud. The whole household of five of us loved to hear news from Penang and the funny jokes that our parents added.
Edward clattered in and sat at the table. ‘Morning Grandfather, Cook, Dora.’
‘Good morning, Edward,’ they chanted.
‘Where’s the letter from home?’ he asked me, reaching to check the envelopes in front of me.
‘Uh-uh,’ I said, pulling them out of his reach. ‘Not before you wish me a Happy Birthday.’
He looked horrified and put his hand over his mouth. ‘Oh no. Is it today?’
I gave him such a glare. ‘How could you forget?’
He smiled. ‘Wait. Hang on. What’s this in my pocket?’
He pulled out a small white box tied with a piece of blue ribbon. ‘Happy Birthday, Hannah.’
‘It’s from all of us. Me, Cook and Edward,’ Dora grinned.
Cook began laughing so much she threw her apron over her head, which made us all laugh as well. I undid the blue ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a small silver cross on a fine silver chain.
Edward said shyly, ‘We thought you’d like it now you are confirmed.’
‘Two years late.’ I looked at him fondly as I put it around my neck.
‘Things like that are never too late,’ said Grandfather, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘And this is from me.’
He opened his hand. ‘It was your grandmother’s.’
In his palm lay a dainty gold band clasping a pearl and a small diamond. I held my hands to my chest. ‘Is it really for me?’
‘It is. Try it on,’ he said.
I slipped it onto the middle finger of my right hand. ‘Are they real?’
‘Oh yes. Does it fit?’ Grandfather asked.
I felt the tears in my eyes. ‘It fits perfectly.’
‘Good.’
Dora, a true romantic, sighed, ‘Like Cinderella’s slipper.’ Which made me laugh. I got up and hugged Grandfather tight. ‘Thank you.’
‘It has been handed down to the first daughter through the generations, and you are next. Keep it safe.’
‘I will.’
Cook wiped her nose on her apron and said, ‘Who wants some fried bread?’
I forgot about my birthday cards and the letter from Penang until later when Dora brought them to me in the study. ‘You left these on the table. I found them pushed under your plate.’
‘I’ll keep the letter from Mummy and Daddy until Grandfather gets home.’
‘That would be nice.’ Dora smiled. ‘You know how Cook and I love to hear their news.’
My birthday cards were from friends at school and two of the old ladies from the church. I put them all on the bookcase for Grandfather to see later. My parents’ letter was the real present. I smoothed the envelope and examined the stamp and even sniffed at it in the hope that Mummy might have left some trace of her perfume on it. I was longing to open it but I had to wait until Grandfather got home at four o’clock. Another five hours to wait.
I spent the day tidying the meagre belongings in my room and admiring my ring. Holding my hand this way and that so that it sparkled as it caught the light. Then I remembered the necklace, my first, and spent at least an hour trying to put my hair up in a bun like Mummy’s so that I could better see how it sat and showed off my neck.
By early afternoon I was bored and, after skipping around the garden and playing on the old swing, I went to the kitchen to see Cook.
‘Out!’ she said, putting her foot in the door to stop me going further. ‘There’s nothing for you to see in here until teatime.’
I sniffed the warmth coming from behind her where she blocked my view. ‘Did you bake me a birthday cake?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out!’ she said smartly, and closed the door on me.
I laughed excitedly and jumped up the stairs from the kitchen to the hall, clapping my hands and singing a happy little tune. Edward would be back from Saturday rugby soon and the
n we’d have my tea party.
I went into the study and read my birthday cards again, then felt the letter from Penang in my pocket. Any minute now, we would all be in the house and I could open it.
Grandfather and Edward finally came home but made me wait even longer as they got themselves washed up and ready. But, at last, I was called to the kitchen where they had all assembled. I walked in with my eyes closed as ordered. I could hear the scrape of chairs being pulled out and starched aprons being smoothed, stifled giggling and whispers.
‘When I count to three,’ Edward said, ‘you can open them. Ready?’
I nodded furiously.
‘OK. One. Two … Wait for it … Three!’
I opened my eyes and saw the kitchen table covered in treats. Triangles of bread and butter, cheese, ham, boiled tongue and, my favourites, tiny sausage rolls. And in the centre a big birthday cake iced with my name and twelve candles aflame on top.
‘Happy Birthday to you,’ they sang to me.
This had happened every year since we had come to live here; each year it filled me with a mixture of happiness and the feeling of being loved, and the hollowness of missing my parents.
‘Come on then,’ said Grandfather. ‘Blow those candles out before they burn the house down.’
I took a deep breath and took them out in one blow to a round of applause.
And then the feast began. Cook’s sausage rolls were delicious and I fought Edward for the lion’s share.
‘I’m hungry,’ he wailed. ‘I’ve played rugby all day. What have you done?’
‘I have been waiting. And waiting makes one very hungry indeed,’ I replied, collecting up another two.
‘Leave some room for the cake, young lady,’ Cook scolded gently.
‘Yes,’ said Dora, ‘I had to beat and beat that butter and cream to make it extra light. Look at my muscles.’ She held her arms up, strong-man style, and Edward said, ‘That’s nothing, feel mine.’ And then we all started to laugh.
It was so much fun that I again forgot about the letter sitting in my pocket. It was Grandfather who reminded me.
